At last it came: the first paragraph that struck my eyes was the following:--"It is rumoured among the circles of the Faubourg, that a duel was fought on--, between a young Englishman and Monsieur D--; the cause of it is said to be the pretensions of both to the beautiful d.u.c.h.esse de P--, who, if report be true, cares for neither of the gallants, but lavishes her favours upon a certain attache to the English emba.s.sy."
"Such," thought I, "are the materials for all human histories. Every one who reads, will eagerly swallow this account as true: if an author were writing the memoirs of the court, he would compile his facts and scandal from this very collection of records; and yet, though so near the truth, how totally false it is! Thank Heaven, however, that, at least, I am not suspected of the degradation of the d.u.c.h.esse"s love:--to fight for her may make me seem a fool--to be loved by her would const.i.tute me a villain."
The next pa.s.sage in that collection of scandal which struck me was--"We understand that E. W. Howard de Howard, Esq., Secretary, is shortly to lead to the hymeneal altar the daughter of Timothy Tomkins, Esq., late Consul of--." I quite started out of my bath with delight. I scarcely suffered myself to be dried and perfumed, before I sat down to write the following congratulatory epistle to the thin man:--
"My dear Mr. Howard de Howard,
"Permit me, before I leave Paris, to compliment you upon that happiness which I have just learnt is in store for you. Marriage to a man like you, who has survived the vanities of the world--who has attained that prudent age when the pa.s.sions are calmed into reason, and the purer refinements of friendship succeed to the turbulent delirium of the senses--marriage, my dear Mr. Howard, to a man like you, must, indeed, be a most delicious Utopia. After all the mortifications you may meet elsewhere, whether from malicious females, or a misjudging world, what happiness to turn to one being to whom your praise is an honour, and your indignation of consequence!
"But if marriage itself be so desirable, what words shall I use sufficiently expressive of my congratulation at the particular match you have chosen, so suitable in birth and station? I can fancy you, my dear Sir, in your dignified retirement, expatiating to your admiring bride upon all the honours of your ill.u.s.trious line, and receiving from her, in return, a full detail of all the civic glories that have ever graced the lineage of the Tomkins"s. As the young lady is, I suppose, an heiress, I conclude you will take her name, instead of changing it. Mr.
Howard de Howard de Tomkins, will sound peculiarly majestic; and when you come to the t.i.tles and possessions of your ancestors, I am persuaded that you will continue to consider your alliance with the honest citizens of London among your proudest distinctions.
"Should you have any commands in England, a letter directed to me in Grosvenor-square will be sure to find me; and you may rely upon my immediately spreading among our mutual acquaintance in London, the happy measure you are about to adopt, and my opinions on its propriety.
"Adieu, my dear Sir,
"With the greatest respect and truth,
"Yours,
"H. Pelham."
"There," said I, as I sealed my letter, "I have discharged some part of that debt I owe to Mr. Howard de Howard, for an enmity towards me, which he has never affected to conceal. He prides himself on his youth--my allusions to his age will delight him! On the importance of his good or evil opinion--I have flattered him to a wonder! Of a surety, Henry Pelham, I could not have supposed you were such an adept in the art of panegyric."
"The horses, Sir!" said Bedos; and "the bill, Sir?" said the garcon.
Alas! that those and that should be so coupled together; and that we can never take our departure without such awful witnesses of our sojourn.
Well--to be brief--the bill for once was discharged--the horses snorted--the carriage door was opened--I entered--Bedos mounted behind--crack went the whips--off went the steeds, and so terminated my adventures at dear Paris.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
O, cousin, you know him--the fine gentleman they talk of so much in town.--Wycherly"s Dancing Master.
By the bright days of my youth, there is something truly delightful in the quick motion of four post-horses. In France, where one"s steeds are none of the swiftest, the pleasures of travelling are not quite so great as in England; still, however, to a man who is tired of one scene--panting for another--in love with excitement, and not yet wearied of its pursuit--the turnpike road is more grateful than the easiest chair ever invented, and the little prison we ent.i.tle a carriage, more cheerful than the state-rooms of Devonshire House.
We reached Calais in safety, and in good time, the next day.
"Will Monsieur dine in his rooms, or at the table d"hote?"
"In his rooms, of course," said Bedos, indignantly deciding the question. A French valet"s dignity is always involved in his master"s.
"You are too good, Bedos," said I, "I shall dine at the table d"hote--who have you there in general?"
"Really," said the garcon, "we have such a swift succession of guests, that we seldom see the same faces two days running. We have as many changes as an English administration."
"You are facetious," said I.
"No," returned the garcon, who was a philosopher as well as a wit; "no, my digestive organs are very weak, and par consequence, I am naturally melancholy--Ah, ma fois tres triste!" and with these words the sentimental plate-changer placed his hand--I can scarcely say, whether on his heart, or his stomach, and sighed bitterly!
"How long," said I, "does it want to dinner?" My question restored the garcon to himself.
"Two, hours, Monsieur, two hours," and twirling his serviette with an air of exceeding importance, off went my melancholy acquaintance to compliment new customers, and complain of his digestion.
After I had arranged myself and my whiskers--two very distinct affairs--yawned three times, and drank two bottles of soda water, I strolled into the town. As I was sauntering along leisurely enough, I heard my name p.r.o.nounced behind me. I turned, and saw Sir Willoughby Townshend, an old baronet of an antediluvian age--a fossil witness of the wonders of England, before the deluge of French manners swept away ancient customs, and created, out of the wrecks of what had been, a new order of things, and a new race of mankind.
"Ah! my dear Mr. Pelham, how are you? and the worthy Lady Frances, your mother, and your excellent father, all well?--I"m delighted to hear it. Russelton," continued Sir Willoughby, turning to a middle-aged man, whose arm he held, "you remember Pelham--true Whig--great friend of Sheridan"s?--let me introduce his son to you. Mr. Russelton, Mr. Pelham; Mr. Pelham, Mr. Russelton."
At the name of the person thus introduced to me, a thousand recollections crowded upon my mind; the contemporary and rival of Napoleon--the autocrat of the great world of fashion and cravats--the mighty genius before whom aristocracy had been humbled and ton abashed--at whose nod the haughtiest n.o.blesse of Europe had quailed--who had introduced, by a single example, starch into neckcloths, and had fed the pampered appet.i.te of his boot-tops on champagne--whose coat and whose friend were cut with an equal grace--and whose name was connected with every triumph that the world"s great virtue of audacity could achieve--the ill.u.s.trious, the immortal Russelton, stood before me. I recognised in him a congenial, though a superior spirit, and I bowed with a profundity of veneration, with which no other human being has ever inspired me.
Mr. Russelton seemed pleased with my evident respect, and returned my salutation with a mock dignity which enchanted me. He offered me his disengaged arm; I took it with transport, and we all three proceeded up the street.
"So," said Sir Willoughby--"so, Russelton, you like your quarters here; plenty of sport among the English, I should think: you have not forgot the art of quizzing; eh, old fellow?"
"Even if I had," said Mr. Russelton, speaking very slowly, "the sight of Sir Willoughby Townshend would be quite sufficient to refresh my memory.
Yes," continued the venerable wreck, after a short pause,--"yes, I like my residence pretty well; I enjoy a calm conscience, and a clean shirt: what more can man desire? I have made acquaintance with a tame parrot, and I have taught it to say, whenever an English fool with a stiff neck and a loose swagger pa.s.ses him--"True Briton--true Briton." I take care of my health, and reflect upon old age. I have read Gil Blas, and the Whole Duty of Man; and, in short, what with instructing my parrot, and improving myself, I think I pa.s.s my time as creditably and decorously as the Bishop of Winchester, or my Lord of A--v--ly himself. So you have just come from Paris, I presume, Mr. Pelham?"
"I left it yesterday!"
"Full of those horrid English, I suppose; thrusting their broad hats and narrow minds into every shop in the Palais Royal--winking their dull eyes at the damsels of the counter, and manufacturing their notions of French into a higgle for sous. Oh! the monsters!--they bring on a bilious attack whenever I think of them: the other day one of them accosted me, and talked me into a nervous fever about patriotism and roast pigs: luckily I was near my own house, and reached it before the thing became fatal; but only think, had I wandered too far when he met me! at my time of life, the shock would have been too great; I should certainly have perished in a fit. I hope, at least, they would have put the cause of my death in my epitaph--"Died, of an Englishman, John Russelton, Esq., aged," Pah! You are not engaged, Mr. Pelham; dine with me to-day; Willoughby and his umbrella are coming."
"Volontiers," said I, "though I was going to make observations on men and manners at the table d"hote of my hotel."
"I am most truly grieved," replied Mr. Russelton, "at depriving you of so much amus.e.m.e.nt. With me you will only find some tolerable Lafitte, and an anomalous dish my cuisiniere calls a mutton chop. It will be curious to see what variation in the monotony of mutton she will adopt to-day. The first time I ordered "a chop," I thought I had amply explained every necessary particular; a certain portion of flesh, and a gridiron: at seven o"clock, up came a cotelette panee, faute de mieux.
I swallowed the composition, drowned as it was, in a most pernicious sauce. I had one hour"s sleep, and the nightmare, in consequence.
The next day, I imagined no mistake could be made: sauce was strictly prohibited; all extra ingredients laid under a most special veto, and a natural gravy gently recommended: the cover was removed, and lo! a breast of mutton, all bone and gristle, like the dying gladiator! This time my heart was too full for wrath; I sat down and wept! To-day will be the third time I shall make the experiment, if French cooks will consent to let one starve upon nature. For my part, I have no stomach left now for art: I wore out my digestion in youth, swallowing Jack St.
Leger"s suppers, and Sheridan"s promises to pay. Pray, Mr. Pelham, did you try Staub when you were at Paris?"
"Yes; and thought him one degree better than Stultz, whom, indeed, I have long condemned, as fit only for minors at Oxford, and majors in the infantry."
"True," said Russelton, with a very faint smile at a pun, somewhat in his own way, and levelled at a tradesman, of whom he was, perhaps, a little jealous--"True; Stultz aims at making gentlemen, not coats; there is a degree of aristocratic pretension in his st.i.tches, which is vulgar to an appalling degree. You can tell a Stultz coat any where, which is quite enough to d.a.m.n it: the moment a man"s known by an invariable cut, and that not original, it ought to be all over with him. Give me the man who makes the tailor, not the tailor who makes the man."
"Right, by G--!" cried Sir Willoughby, who was as badly dressed as one of Sir E--"s dinners. "Right; just my opinion. I have always told my Schneiders to make my clothes neither in the fashion nor out of it; to copy no other man"s coat, and to cut their cloth according to my natural body, not according to an isosceles triangle. Look at this coat, for instance," and Sir Willoughby Townshend made a dead halt, that we might admire his garment the more accurately.
"Coat!" said Russelton, with an appearance of the most naive surprise, and taking hold of the collar, suspiciously, by the finger and thumb; "coat, Sir Willoughby! do you call this thing a coat?"
CHAPTER x.x.xIII.
J"ai toujours cru que le bon n"etait que le beau mis en action.
--Rousseau.
Shortly after Russelton"s answer to Sir Willoughby"s eulogistic observations on his own attire, I left those two worthies till I was to join them at dinner; it wanted three hours yet to that time, and I repaired to my quarters to bathe and write letters. I scribbled one to Madame D"Anville, full of ant.i.theses and maxims, sure to charm her; another to my mother, to prepare her for my arrival; and a third to Lord Vincent, giving him certain commissions at Paris, which I had forgotten personally to execute.
My pen is not that of a ready writer; and what with yawning, stretching, admiring my rings, and putting pen to paper, in the intervals of these more natural occupations, it was time to bathe and dress before my letters were completed. I set off to Russelton"s abode in high spirits, and fully resolved to make the most of a character so original.